


Fever

by GrantairetheCynical (Rebel_Atar)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-12 16:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7112698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebel_Atar/pseuds/GrantairetheCynical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire falls ill and becomes feverish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Grantaire felt odd. Decidedly odd.

 

Things were different and he could not explain why. He felt hot, and his head swam. Shadows flickered and climbed the walls. Voices whispered insecurities and fears into his head.

 

He shivered and tried to back further against the wall.

 

“Don’t be scared, they can’t hurt you.” It was a familiar voice but softer and with a worried tone, he turned his head and gasped. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, it was impossible.

 

Yet, on his bed beside him sat Enjolras, a patient smile on his face as he waited for Grantaire to come to terms with his presence.

 

“You…but, but why? Why are you here?” He ran a hand threw his hair, damp with fevered sweat.

 

The blonde chuckled, “Why shouldn’t I be here?” His gaze was soft but intent with something. “I was worried, you are not well Grantaire, someone has to make sure you are alright.”

 

“Ah,” the artist turned his gaze sadly on the ceiling, “And you drew the short straw. Well, there is no need for you to be so pitying of me, I will be fine, I always am.”

 

Enjolras shook his head. “That is not it at all. Grantaire,” he trailed off. “I am aware we antagonise each other and I thought, perhaps, if I made point to understand you a little better such arguments could be avoided. This was merely the best opportunity. Besides, I would help see you well If I could.”

 

The shadows still flickered at the edge of his vision but his focus was on the man before him. “I…” He cleared his throat, “My apologies Enjolras. I…would be honored. What would you wish to know?”

 

His muse smiled. “Whatever you would wish to tell me.”

 

Grantaire swallowed, “Anything.”

 

The blonde let out a soft chuckle and leaned back against the wall so he was sitting next to the artist. “Were you always like this, so bitter, so…melancholic?”

 

Grantaire lowered his head with a sigh “N-no, not always, once I…I was contented I suppose. Once…once I believed.” He still felt too hot, the sweat dripped down the back of his neck and his head swam and the shadows still flickered. “You do not normally ask such things, are…you quite alright…Enjolras?”

 

He watched with eyes hazed with sickness as the blond turned to face him side on, still smiling. His breath caught and his pulse quickened. The shadows danced in the corner of the room and a sickening realisation struck.

 

“You…you are not real. Ap-Enjolras would not act like this, not at all. This…this is just more of the sickness, more torment for my mind.” His chest ached and his eyes pricked from the knowledge.

 

“Does it matter?”

 

The artist looked up as the figment spoke once more.

 

“Does it matter if I am just more of your fever dreams. Why? I am here to see to your comfort Grantaire, to soothe your mind and soul, to ease you ache…all of your aches.” The last part was accompanied by a smirk that was very out of character and completely out of place on the blond’s face.

 

Grantaire looked on in awe as Enjolras straddled him, legs spread wide apart over the artists thighs but not quite touching, palms flat against the wall either side of his head. Grantaire couldn’t breath. His Apollo was looking at him with half-lidded eyes and he couldn’t breath. “You’re not real, I know this isn’t real.”

 

“What is real? Does this not seem real? What does it matter how long I am here for, for now I am here and you are not alone. For now you do not need to suffer or ache, let me soothe you…Rene.”

 

A broken whimper escaped the artist’s throat.

 

“Shhhh do not fret so. I am here, and aren’t I more real than he, who does not see you, who does not wish to see you, or know you, as I would know you. Is this not better?” He had leaned in close as he spoke and Grantaire’s lips tingled from what he knew could not be breath.

 

“Let me give you what he won’t. Just…just give in to it Rene, it’s what you want, what you need. Please just let me…”

 

His breath had returned to come in pants and he shook from fever, from cold, from fear and desire, and he was weak. “Yes.” he whispered to the apparition.

 

Enjolras smiled, and pressed his lips to Grantaire’s.

 

The artist felt nothing, but a tingle and a breeze and when he opened his eyes there was nothing and no one. Just the writhing shadows, and mocking laughter in the air.

 

A sob caught in his throat, and he curled within his blankets, pressed against the wall by his bed, shaking and shivering as he tried to sleep through his fever’s breaking. Yet his dreams were more broken still.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was persuaded to continue this story a little longer. I hope you like it.

Grantaire hadn't shown up for the last meeting and whilst his friend may not have been the most enthusiastic about their cause Joly had never known him not to show up.

 

He had a suspicion that the artist may have fallen ill. He'd been looking decidedly peaky the past few days. So he had taken himself and a bag of medical supplies and remedies and headed over to where Grantaire stayed in the hopes that he might be able to help him some what. 

 

Joly knocked at the door and upon getting no response tried the handle, the door swung open easily.

 

Grantaire never locked his door. Something Joly was currently glad for but would have to impress upon Grantaire the importance of doing in the future.

 

He walked in and was greeted by the sickly scent of fever. He pulled his scarf up over his mouth just to be on the safe side and looked around for Grantaire. He eventually found him in the bedroom, curled up in a ball on top of the mess of fabrics he called a bed, sweating and shivering. He could see dried tear tracks on his face.

 

“Oh R what’s happened this time.” Grantaire always seemed to be afflicted with something. Whether it was sickness or his own melancholia and Joly felt bad for his friend. Everyone deserved some measure of happiness and the artist never seemed to have any, not truly.

 

He fussed about with the bed for a moment, making sure Grantaire was comfortable. He knew he should see to the illness but the sleep would probably do his friend some good. He took the opportunity while he was sleeping to clear the flat of empty bottles and debris from the artist’s life that Grantaire could not summon the energy or care to deal with. With Grantaire’s lodgings looking a bit more put together Joly pulled the scarf back over his mouth and went to tend to his friend.

 

He crouched over the artist’s bedside and placed the back of his hand on his forehead. He was definitely burning up. 

 

Joly had brought something that might help but he would need to wake the artist up for him to be able to take the powder and tinctures. He laid a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder and gently shook him awake.

 

The artist groaned and shrunk back from the touch, slowly climbing towards wakefulness. When his eyes finally opened and he was greeted with the sight of Joly his face fell and he curled even further in on himself.

 

“Another figment come to torment me.”

 

“Figment?” Grantaire must think him a fever dream. “No, no, my friend. I am real.”

 

“Hah! Are you indeed, Enjolras almost had me believing he was real too and now I am left alone again and with a heavy ache in my chest though I don’t know why I’m surprised it's no different than normal.”

 

Joly paused at that. “You saw Enjolras?”

 

“I saw a figment that claimed to be Enjolras just as you claim to be Joly.”

 

“I am Joly, what did it say R that you think me so false?”

 

He huffed a mirthless laugh, “Everything. It said everything. Everything I’ve ever wanted to hear.” 

 

“Oh Grantaire.” Joly had always had his suspicions about Grantaire’s feelings for Enjolras but it was not something he had ever dared to give voice to.

 

“Ah begone phantom. I will not have you trick me as he did, I will not have you prey on my desires.” He swiped a hand through the air in an attempt to dispel the hallucination, but his hand thudded into Joly’s shoulder. He looked up in shock. Joly took his hand with a soft smile. 

 

“Told you I was real.”

 

Grantaire blinked in confusion. “You really did come to check on me?”

 

“Yes R.”

 

“Oh. Thank you.” Had he been a little more coherent he would have been panicking at what he had just inadvertently divulged. As it was he still felt distinctly uneasy. “Um if you could just conveniently forget everything I just said.”

 

“Not a chance.”

 

“Joly please.”

 

“No R. Now hold quiet for a moment you need to take some of these tinctures.”

 

Grantaire made a face. “Oh no Joly they are always awful.”

 

“They will help with the fever.”

 

“Joly.” He whined.

 

“You hallucinated an Enjolras detailed enough that you thought he was the real thing Grantaire. Fevers are serious if you don’t treat this and it gets worse well,  I’ve seen them take people’s lives R. Please.” Joly pleaded with him, hoping his friend would see sense.

 

Grantaire sighed. “Oh alright, but only because you’ll worry yourself into an early grave.”

 

Joly smiled brightly behind his scarf and started fishing bottles and jars and a spoon out of his bag. “Here, powder first.Then this one, and two spoonfuls of this.” 

 

Grantaire took all of it with some reluctance. “God that’s disgusting.” 

 

“You will need to take these several times a day R and drink fluids, and make sure you are wrapped up properly until your fever breaks but don’t worry because I’m going to make sure you’ll make a full recovery.”

 

“And how exactly are you going to do that.”

 

“By staying here until you are well.”

 

“Joly you don’t have to do that.”

 

“Clearly I do Grantaire. You never even mentioned feeling unwell and I left it alone the past few days even though I could see that something was wrong because I know you hate it when I fuss and look what’s happened.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“You don’t need to be sorry, just tell me if you are feeling unwell.” Joly sighed deeply, the next conversation was going to be a difficult one. “Now, about Enjolras.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last chapter to go.


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire looked away. This was not a discussion he felt like having right now, honestly this was not a discussion he felt like having ever. “Must we speak of it.”

 

“Does it really pain you so much?” Joly could understand his reluctance but they were friends. Surely Grantaire could not think he would be judged for this.

 

“It is shameful.”

 

Joly tensed up, face hardening. “Is what I have with Bossuet shameful.”

 

“You mean what you and Bossuet have with your mistress.”

 

“I meant what I said Grantaire.”

 

He turned to look at Joly in shock. 

 

“Is it shameful,” asked Joly, “because if that’s what you think-”

 

“No, no, Joly, forgive me mon ami. I didn’t know, I mean, I had my suspicions but-”

 

“Everyone has their suspicions and I  _ should _ care. God we could get in so much trouble, arrested you know.”

 

“Then why.” Grantaire looked at him in confusion, and perhaps a little hope.

 

Joly looked back at Grantaire, eyes pleading, hoping that his friend would understand. “Because he loves me, because we both love Musichetta and she loves us both.” He swallowed thickly. “Because I  _ love _ him. How could I ever give that up.”

 

“Joly.” Grantaire was floored, he’d had his suspicions but had not been aware of the depth of feeling involved. “It’s not shameful. I didn't mean that, but what I feel for Enjolras is.”

 

“Grantaire.” Joly’s tone was getting tense again.

 

“I sully him, I bring him down to my level.”

 

“R that’s not true and even if it was you speak like you are so much lower than him.”

 

“I am Joly, lower than all of you. You know what they call me, you know the whispers that circulate. I wish I could say they were all wrong.”

 

Joly took Grantaire’s hands in his, wishing to give some measure of solace to his friend. “It wouldn't matter if they were all right, you are my friend, R. You deserve to be happy, no matter what you think. And I don't think what you feel for Enjolras is any more shameful than what I feel for Bossuet.”

 

“With all due respect, mon ami, you don’t know the things I think about Enjolras.”

 

“And, with all due respect Grantaire, you don’t know the things I  _ do  _ to Bossuet.”

 

“ _ Oh _ .” 

 

Joly smiled. Grantaire sick of staring at half his face pulled the scarf down. Joly swatted him away.

 

“Enjolras is not as much the marble you claim him to be.”

 

“Bah!”

 

“He is  _ human  _ Grantaire, and perhaps if you spoke to him as one human to another rather than as a disciple might speak to a god then he may be more favorable. Perhaps if you didn't pick apart his every argument.”

 

Grantaire laughed. “Monsieur have we been introduced? Clearly not, allow me to rectify that egregious error. Bonjour, I am Rene Grantaire, cynic, sceptic, apathetic artiste, pessimist or perhaps realist given the state of this world, trapped in a nest of idealists for my sins and, let us not forget, libertine and lush. I cannot rest unless I am stripping some glowing youth of his ideals so that he may face the reality of our wretched existence.”

 

Joly waited patiently for the artist to finish. “Regardless Grantaire, if you have doubts or worries about our actions there may be a better way to put them forward. At the next meeting, just listen. I know you love to hear him speak.”

 

The artist sighed deeply. “I do.”

 

“R?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“No matter what anyone says, I don't believe there is anything wrong in what you feel for Enjolras and if you ever need someone to talk to who won't judge both mine and my dear Lesgle’s ears are always open. As is our door.”

 

“Merci Joly. Merci.”

 

“Now. I’m going to go out and get you some broth and some bread and we are going to get you better, but first. “

 

He rose, manhandled Grantaire into a position he deemed more appropriate and then bundled the man up in as many blankets he could find before propping him upright with some pillows. “There. Now don't move until I get back.”

  
As Joly left to find something to aid in nursing his friend back to health Grantaire allowed himself to sink into the soft cocoon he had been wrapped in with a contented sigh. His friend cared, more than he had thought he might. He was warmer, if still shivering, and safe. For the first time in a long time he allowed himself a genuine smile before he drifted back to sleep, comfortable and contented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was any of that fluff?


End file.
